


The Rest of the Equilibrium Series

by FlyingMocha



Series: Equilibrium [5]
Category: James May's Man Lab RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:57:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyingMocha/pseuds/FlyingMocha
Summary: The rest of the Equilibrium series, as chapters instead of standalone works, because thinking of interesting titles and summaries is starting to annoy me.  The overall series summary is:James May hates being touched.  Or at least this is what he's led everyone to believe.





	1. Meccano Motorbike

**Author's Note:**

> This story will not come quickly, but each chapter does stand alone, so there will be no cliffhangers. I have four chapters in varying stages of doneness (and I may add more, since I keep thinking of "just one more idea") but I also have only limited time to write, as my granddad died unexpectedly in August and I'm struggling just a bit to keep up with work, school, homeowner stuff, and now helping Grandma as well. Thanks for your understanding!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Chapter 1 briefly refers to societal issues such as street harassment, sexism in school/workplace, and sexual assault. It doesn't go into much detail. These issues are included in a "laundry list of what's wrong with society" sort of context, so I only talk about each incident for about a sentence. Even I can't get too detailed in that limited space. But I think it's worthy of a trigger warning, so you know what content you're about to run into. Also, just in case there's any confusion, this is fiction. I know next to nothing about James' and Sim's families. The details I use for this story are a composite of stories I've heard, from people I know. I sincerely hope that the details I've used bear absolutely no resemblance to the experiences of their loved ones, but odds being what they are…

James rolled his eyes at himself as he shuffled towards the loo to clean his teeth. If he'd been more coherent, he wouldn't have sent that text… typed it, maybe, but not sent it, not until nightfall. He'd been awake for nearly 30 hours straight, and perched on a miserably uncomfortable Meccano motorbike for the majority of that time, after getting entirely too little sleep the week prior. Sim, he knew, was running on even less sleep by this point. He'd spent the last two days constantly making bike repairs, fuelled by caffeine, takeout cheeseburgers, and that uniquely desperate rage experienced by the catastrophically stressed-out.

So James had no explanation for why he thought that right now, on his way to bed at ten-thirty in the morning, was the right moment to acknowledge that he'd gotten a bit out of balance after the interminable work-week. But, well, he was exhausted and out of balance after an interminable work-week. And so the text had been sent.

They'd been at the hotel long enough to have a snack at the breakfast buffet downstairs, pass around a flask that one of the crewmembers had brought (since some idiot thought that it being Sunday morning was a good excuse to close the hotel bar), and go up to their rooms. The only reason James was still up was because he'd had to reply to four emails from Clarkson about… something about which he gave no damns, honestly, but if he didn't respond, he was likely to get woken up by calls about the same topic. Sim wasn't up; he wouldn’t see that text for at least a few hours. Nobody else was still up after the brutal slog they'd just endured. By the time Sim woke and responded, James would have slept enough to face the world for a few more days, and they could just make plans to do a woodworking project together next week. An afternoon well wasted, that would be. He smiled at the thought.

James stood by his luggage and stared at the hotel bed, considering how dirty he felt and weighing his exhaustion against the discomfort of sleeping in whatever grit he was coated with, after nearly three days on the trail. A determined glare came over him after a moment's thought; he wasn't that tired and decrepit. It would only take a few moments to lather up, rinse, and dry. He clambered into the shower, shampoo in one hand and toothbrush in the other; two birds, one stone, all that. Three minutes later, he stepped out -- to the sound of light knocking at his door.

With a grumble, James slipped into the hotel-provided dressing gown, rubbed at his hair with a towel, and then went to answer the door. He blinked in surprise to find Sim standing on the other side, luggage in one hand and pillow in the other. "You're still up?" he asked, then frowned at himself for asking the bleeding obvious.

"I was going to text you and invite myself up," Sim said as he swept into the room and made himself at home. "But you beat me to it. Left side or right?"

James blinked in an instant of confusion before noticing that Sim was untucking the bedding. "Er, right, please." 

Sim promptly chucked his feather pillow to the left and shoved the hotel's three under-fluffed pillows over for James. "Couldn't sleep," he explained as he worked. "I was feeling really out of balance myself, after so much stress on so little sleep. Bit of a relief when you texted… don't feel guilty about needing you, now." He grabbed two water glasses from the side table, filling his with a bottle of chilled water in the refrigerator, and James' from the bottle sitting by the kettle.

James couldn't decide if he felt unnerved that Sim knew exactly what to do to prepare them both for bed, or peeved with himself for over-extending the budget so habitually, forcing them to share a hotel room or even sleep in the van so much that Sim had come to learn things like how James liked his blankets and his bedside water glass.

Ultimately he decided to be neither, and just thankful for the opportunity to know and be known so deeply. "Glad you came," James muttered, returning to the loo to finish drying and dressing. When he emerged, he saw that Sim had already pulled the room-darkening curtains closed, using suitcases to ensure that no light seeped around the edges. The only light in the room came from the bedside lamp which was, as always in hotels, entirely too bright for a bedside lamp.

"Come on, we're exhausted," Sim said softly. "Quiet time laying down, in the dark, the way we used to do it back in the days when we had to sleep in the van to keep the budget intact." James hummed his agreement, turning the light off before he sank into the bed with a moan that spoke of desperate need for the soft warmth. He only barely noticed Sim chuckling at his sound effects as he, too, slipped into the cushy bed.

Sim breathed deeply for a moment, then rolled over and laid an arm gently over James' middle, his hand finding James' in the dark. "Better?" he asked.

"Warm and safe," James answered. "First time in… I don't know, at least a week."

"You didn't feel safe this week?" Sim asked, suddenly sounding more alert.

James made a dismissive sound at his friend's concern. "I never do when I'm under that much stress. Or in front of a camera that many hours a day. Is it just me, do you never feel like that?"

Sim gave a relieved chuckle. "Of course I do, but I'm a man with a daughter, James," he pointed out. "We get a little jumpy when someone we love says they feel unsafe in public."

James hummed in sudden understanding of where Sim's concern might have taken him. "Nothing like that," he assured his friend. "I didn't feel threatened, or whatever. Just one of those things… I really am an introvert at heart. I only ended up doing this for a living because they didn't have the sense to fire me like everyone else."

"Found your calling, you mean," Sim fired back. James hummed, wanting to argue, but he really couldn't. Like it or not, being a nerd on television did seem to be the universe's goal for him.

"I do sort of enjoy it," he acknowledged finally. Sim huffed, a quiet laugh. "Yes, all right, I love my job. Jobs. Even the hard days, usually. Just so damn tired of being cold and exhausted."

"Go to sleep, then," Sim suggested.

James made a displeased sound. "Still winding down from the stress, if I'm honest," he said softly.

Sim chuckled again. "Thought so," he answered. "Me too. If I'd known this project was going to be this long and frustrating, I'd have packed more granola bars. And alcohol."

"Definitely, more alcohol," James agreed.

"I'm sorry it was such a rough project," Sim offered. "I honestly thought we'd done enough testing on that wheel. Should have stripped it back down to parts and inspected them."

"You'd have needed an MRI or something to see the early stages of damage to the wheel bearing," James pointed out. "There's little chance you could have known that the forces we were putting on the wheel could be that destructive to the steel. I should have allowed for more time. We always blow the deadline so badly with Meccano projects."

"No more Meccano projects," Sim whined. James laughed at that.

"All right," he conceded. "It's probably time we move on to something else anyway. Our audience is only going to tolerate so much of that before they want a change, anyhow."

"It was brilliant fun, though," Sim offered. "And just think of all the things we learned about how not to assemble Meccano."

James laughed again, nodding against his friend's shoulder. After a moment of quiet, James asked, "do you really worry about me feeling unsafe?"

Sim hummed. "When I said fathers of daughters get jumpy about people indicate that they don't feel safe in public?" He felt James nod. "Yes, of course… why wouldn't I be concerned about such a thing?"

"Seems a bit… I don't know… excessive," James answered. Instead of a response, Sim went quiet, sort of artificially so, as if he were holding back and not saying what he really thought. James wasn't quite sure what, but he could tell that he'd said something idiotic. "Sorry, I--"

"James, stop," Sim commanded, and James fell silent. Sim could feel the nervousness in his friend's tense muscles, so he squeezed him in a sort of hug. "There's nothing wrong with what you've said. It's just that it's a serious topic and I need a moment to think before I respond, all right?" James nodded, waiting patiently for a few moments. "All right… yes, it might seem excessive, from your perspective. But consider it from my perspective, James. When I was in sixth form, one of my friends got told off, really shouted at until she was in tears, for wasting a place in physics class that should have gone to a boy who'd actually use the skills. She stuck it out anyway, all the way through university, but she eventually went into teaching because colleagues in the engineering field were always grabbing her bum, and sending her to make tea while they had important meetings. People prevented her from doing her job because she's a woman. And you remember a couple years ago, when I kept taking contracting jobs with very little vetting, and half of them were stark raving mad?"

James thought for a moment. "Oh, the lady who thought a houseboat could float under unlimited weight," he remembered.

"Yes, that was one of them. We needed the money to buy my wife a car, because she was getting harassed on her way to work. Couple times, she was followed to work from her bus stop. One bloke tried to get off on her leg on a crowded bus. And I have to take her car in for service and repairs, because they try to scam her. At one of her uni jobs, she worked at an information counter and would hold her hands behind her back for comfort. One of her colleagues would sneak up and grab her by the wrists because he thought that watching her try to escape was a funny joke. I see the way men look at her, in stores, when they don't realise we're together. My kids see it, they know what's going on. They're not as clueless as we'd like to think kids are. My daughter's already caught on to the idea that girls are supposed to be overly emotional and bad with math. And… I don't want to share too much of someone else's story, but, I have two relatives who were assaulted as children, by adults who they should have been able to trust."

Sim let that information hang in the air between them. "I had no idea…" James said softly. "I've heard, but I don't know anyone who's experienced this." James could almost feel the raised eyebrows from his friend, and then realisation struck. "Hang on, maybe it's happening to people I know and they just don't choose to tell me."

"It's possible," Sim acknowledged. "But you do know people who've had these things affect them. Remember Argentina, having to take the women with you when you fled, for their safety?" James hummed. "They couldn't do their jobs in that situation, because they're women. How many other times have you had to choose your film crew for on-location work, based on gender and security issues?"

James shifted uncomfortably. "It's… happened," he acknowledged. "I know we joke about gender and sexuality at work, but it's miserably uncomfortable when it comes up for real, and we have to make decisions like that." Sim nodded against James' shoulder.

"I worry my daughter could be bullied out of math and science classes. That she'll avoid being too athletic, that she might develop a diet and exercise philosophy that focuses on meeting arbitrary beauty standards instead of focusing on health and strength. I worry about whether she'll have the same career opportunities I do, to use her skills fully, and to be paid accordingly. I worry that she… that someone might…" Sim fell quiet, and somehow, James knew he was trying to avoid saying certain words… words which, James reasoned, it must terrify parents to even say while thinking of their own children. "I worry that… that bad things could happen," Sim continued finally, "the result of which is that I might have to beat somebody up."

James laughed, then covered his mouth suddenly. "I'm sorry, there is absolutely nothing funny about that, but--"

"The idea of me beating anybody up is hilarious, I know," Sim answered. "One of the many things I have to worry about. So yes, James… we get jumpy about these things. We see it, we hear about it, we feel frightened for our children, and completely helpless to protect them. And we become just a bit more attuned to the idea that someone saying they feel unsafe could be an indicator of a serious problem."

"I'm a bloke, though," James pointed out.

"Happens to males as well," came the quick retort. "Maybe not as often, or in the same ways, but it's folly to assume that gender confers immunity."

"Your safety and risk management tendencies might be showing just a bit," James observed.

Sim hummed in agreement. "I think you're right," he acknowledged. "I probably do think about these things differently than most people, since protecting people is such a vital component of my job, at work and at home."

"I am so glad I'm not a parent," James mused.

"I think you'd make quite a good parent," Sim answered, "but if it isn't for you, then certainly, don't test that theory. Anyway, I confess that I'm glad my kids don't have to share you with anyone."

James chuckled at that. "I do enjoy playing the role of the awkwardly fun uncle with the quirky toys and crazy ideas."

"Yes, about that, could you maybe warn us next time you plan to let them fly the plane, though? I would have sent them with the video camera if I'd known."

James laughed. "You'd have just gotten motion sick from watching the video, Simmy. Ugh, the way they were changing heading every time I blinked. It bore strong resemblance to Clarkson trying to find his hotel room on the last night of a filming trip."

"Still," Sim answered. "I'll make sure they take the camera next time."

"Come with them next time," James said after a moment. "I'll rent a plane with better weight and balance figures, you can sit in the back and make the recording yourself." Sim made an interested sound, at that suggestion. "Next weekend," James continued. "If the weather cooperates we'll take the kids flying, and if it doesn't, we can work on that carving project I was telling you about."

"You're still feeling out of balance, aren't you?" Sim asked. James grunted. As always, he peered past the surface to find the real issue on James' mind.

"And I'd like you to join us on a flight," he said around a yawn.

Sim squeezed him again, gently. "All right, next weekend. Have you unwound enough to sleep, do you think?" James nodded, making Sim smile. "Good night, James," Sim said softly.

"Good morning," James corrected, his teasing voice already gone gravelly with impending sleep.

"That too," Sim answered. He could hear James' soft snoring almost before his eyes drifted shut.


	2. Family Emergency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James glanced around at his terrifyingly long to-do list, the half-written script that Clarkson was certain to call about (again) in the next few minutes, the terse note from his editor about the tardiness of this week's article, and dinner in the oven. But, that strained undertone in Sim's question, when he asked if James was busy... "No, I'm just pottering about the house," he lied.
> 
> "I need you," came the response. James had already guessed that, but the pain in Sim's voice hit him with such force that he was sure he physically rocked backward in his chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Sim and Mrs Sim have two kids, a boy around age 9 and a girl of about 5. I originally left the kids nameless, because my desire for realistic detail was in conflict with my desire not to be that creepy person who tried to google personal details. But my beta said the flow was awkward, so the children are henceforth Daniel and Catherine (who goes by Your Majesty, for reasons that will become apparent shortly), and Mrs Sim is Anne (because my first "real" writing job was helping my theatre teacher rework Annie Get Your Gun for a school production, and Anne Oakley makes me giggle). Any resemblance to reality would be utterly shocking since I made it all up.
> 
> Even I'm surprised at how quickly I was able to get this chapter ready. Fall Break is a glorious invention. I get so much of nothing done so efficiently. I did NOT do my usual routine of re-reading this 20 times and stripping out the "er, should I really write that in public?" parts, but it did get a beta read from a friend, though, so there's that.

James suppressed a sigh as his mobile phone rang, yet again. It was never all that quiet on his days off, especially in the lead-up to a new series of Top Gear when both ideas and complications were coming fast and furious. But today had been particularly busy with Clarkson calling with a new idea every ten or fifteen minutes. Most of his ideas were the sort that belonged alongside all the idiotic things teens do for attention on YouTube, but some of them led to other, actually useful ideas, so James felt obligated to endure the endless calls.

"Yes?" James asked as he picked up the phone, making no effort to hide his slight but growing irritation.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" came the reply. Not Clarkson, not a new half-baked idea. James knew the voice instantly, but he still checked the screen to confirm it.

"Simmy, what's wrong?" James asked. The sound of thinly veiled distress in Sim's usually-calm voice unnerved him.

"Are you busy?" his friend asked again, more insistently.

James looked at the article he needed to finish, the script Clarkson was certain to call about (again) in the next few minutes, and, beyond the clutter of his desk, his woman cooking in the kitchen, with whom he'd been looking forward to a quiet evening in. But, that unsettling undertone of strain in Sim's voice... "No, I'm just pottering about the house."

"I need you," came the response that James had sort of expected, and yet it still hit him with such force that he was sure he physically rocked back in his chair a bit.

"What happened?" James asked, suddenly a flurry of movement, softly telling his sweet woman that he had to leave.

"My son had an accident," Sim answered. "They're keeping him at least overnight, his mother is with him and I'm home with Catherine and I cannot keep it together much longer."

"Keeping him?" James asked. "He's in hospital? What sort of accident, what happened?"

Sarah whirled around at that. "Hammond?" she asked in a near-whisper.

"Daniel Oakley," James whispered back. "Sounds serious." Immediately, she turned the cooker off and began putting dinner away. James frowned in confusion at her actions, but ignored that in favour of focusing on the phone call.

"He was at a roller skating party and there was a colossal wreck," Sim answered. "Broken collarbone, and he was knocked unconscious, they're worried -- yes, your majesty, I'll be right there, go in the house and start the film."

James bit back a laugh at Sim's interaction with his young daughter. Recently, Catherine had decided she was a long-lost princess, and of course Sim, being big on teaching his kids logic and realistic goals and stuff… had responded by buying her a ball gown and a crown on eBay. When it came to his kids, the man was a lost cause. James could picture her prancing about in the costume while her bemused father looked on. He nodded at Sarah with a frown, indicating that now, while Sim was focused on his daughter, was a good time for her to explain her actions.

"I'm going to sit with Anne," she answered, as if that should have been perfectly obvious.

"Sim--" he started.

"James, I need you." The pain in Sim's tone of voice was so severe, it made James wince in sympathetic heartache.

"I'm already packing, Simmy," he answered softly. "We both are. Sarah wants to go sit with Anne. Just text her the hospital address, and go watch the programme with Catherine, and… and order me some food, please. I'm coming, fast as I can."

"Thank you, James," came the reply. "I'll take care of dinner, see you when you get here, love you." The line went dead before James could answer. Not that he has any clue how to answer. He wondered if Sim even knew what he'd said, to whom, although it wasn't the first time. And the sound of relief in Sim's voice when he realised James was coming… that provoked such compassion, James' heart feel like it was made of delicate spun glass, as if it could break at the slightest provocation. James was confident that all would be well by morning, but it was going to be a long, tough night for his friend.

\---

In a second call while Her Majesty was in the shower, James learned that while Daniel was doing decently, they were watching for signs of brain injury. James recognised this as fairly routine, but he knew that a worried parent would not view it as routine, and that Sim's fears would only grow as night set in. The black dog is, for so many people, a nocturnal hunter.

James forced himself to remember Richard Hammond's colossal jet car accident, dragging up memories he'd long hoped to forget. He considered what had helped Mindy, and even him and Clarkson, cope with it. By the time he got to Sim's neighbourhood, Sarah had already called from the hospital to confirm that the other half of Sim's family was doing all right. And James… didn't feel prepared, really, but calmer for having thought everything over. He saw Sim pacing in the front garden, as soon as he came around the final corner. James parked in the drive, stepped out of the Panda, and immediately found himself with his arms full of engineer.

"Hello," he said, then flinched slightly. God, Clarkson was right, he was awful at starting conversations. Sim only responded with a halfway-suppressed sob. James glanced around, uncomfortable with this unfolding in public view. "Where's Catherine?" he asked, focusing on the most immediate issue first.

Sim pointed up at the girl's dimly-illuminated bedroom window. "Reading," Sim answered. James nodded. Though she wasn't quite an independent reader yet, Sim's daughter had definitely inherited her father's love of literature and was already a voracious consumer of picture books.

"Let's not put on a show, all right?" James said with a comforting squeeze. "Go out to the shed; I'll be right behind you."

Sim drew a ragged breath, nodded, and cut through the house to the back garden. James dropped his overnight bag by the stairs and followed Sim, grabbing a tissue box on his way. As soon as he entered, Sim pounced again. "Glad you came."

James wasn't entirely sure what it might be like to have a child in hospital, but he could extrapolate from his own experience with loved ones. He wanted to ask for more detail about the accident, but he began with a firm, secure hug, using his thumbs to rub little circles on Sim's back as he established a pattern of slow, deep breaths, using all the strategies Sim had taught him over the years to meet a person's need for intimacy. Sim had a way of talking that helped as well, a soothing sort of patter that James was fairly sure that, if he tried to emulate it, would result in either scoffing laughter or offence. No, best to stick to what he knew, James decided.

"You haven't experienced anything like this before, have you?" James asked after a few moments that seemed like hours. Sim shook his head. James hummed in understanding. No wonder his friend was so upset. "It must be unspeakably terrifying," he observed, drawing on lessons from a communication book he'd read in an effort to figure out Jeremy Clarkson. First, acknowledge and validate. Then… hopefully remember the rest of the book before that wears thin. James kept it up until Sim started to grow more quiet, as the intense burst of emotion began to run out of energy.

"I saw it happen," Sim said after a few quiet moments. James blinked at the unexpected information, then squeezed just a bit tighter. Sim had sort of alluded to this in one of his phone calls while James was driving, but James had been focused on traffic and hadn't absorbed the information.

"What happened?" he asked. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I was meant to pick him up after the party, and I got there early," Sim started. "Said I'd finished at the shops early, but really, I wanted to watch. Somebody let him watch ice skating on television last winter, and he's taken to doing tricks. He really enjoys it. God help me, James, I may have to register my boy for ice skating. What if he's actually good at it, like an Olympic athlete or something? How the hell am I going to pay for all this?"

James chuckled lightly. "You'll figure it out, you always do." 

Sim nodded. "I know I will. Just… some days, James, this parenting thing… I don't know why I put up with it."

"Because they're little and cute and you love them to death," James offered. Sim made a noise of agreement, then fell silent again. James ignored his intense interest in hearing what happened, in favour of letting Sim share at his own pace. He was here to meet his dear friend's needs, after all, not to gather the news.

Sim pulled back a bit and grabbed a couple tissues. "It wasn't anyone's fault," he continued after a moment. "He was just going for one last lap with a mate when another kid fell right in front of him. He went headfirst over top of her, into the floor and… he was so still, James. It was like all the life bled out of him at impact. Someone said it made a pretty awful sound, but I didn't even notice… don't remember… whatever. In my life, I don't think I've ever been so frightened."

Sim's tone had steadied briefly, but it grew shaky and distressed again, as he described the incident. James hummed in understanding. "Do you want to sit?" he asked when he noticed his own feet getting sore. The younger man nodded and disengaged, making quick work of the clever wall-mounted "murphy sofa" he'd built, to give himself somewhere to lounge while he pondered projects. James had expected they'd settle in some variant of side-by-side like always, but Sim sat facing him, in a position that was nearly straddling his lap except that both of Sim's legs were to his left. James blinked at the novel approach, but it worked, so he just went with it.

Sim had calmed again, so James decided on a practical, if a bit patronising, approach to his friend's upset. "It will be all right," he ventured.

Sim sighed against his chest. "There could be a brain injury, they said. He has to stay overnight because of it. You've volunteered at the treatment centres with your car friends, you know how bad that could be, even from minor accidents sometimes."

James sighed inwardly. "I've seen a lot of bad things," he agreed, "and some miracles, as well."

"Some miracles," Sim repeated with just a touch of disdain, as if a poor outcome was virtually guaranteed. James fell quiet for a moment. Mindy Hammond, in the quiet moments with him and Clarkson, sometimes became unreasonably irritable with them, as she struggled to cope with her worry. James considered the possibility that Sim was responding to his worry in a similar manner.

"I think the doctors are right that it's a very unlikely outcome," James began again, "but if they are mistaken, it will be all right. Many of those miracles were because people got the right help at the right time, and you have near-infinite resources available."

Sim snorted at that. "James, you've seen my paycheques, you know what resources I have." The hypothesis that worry, and maybe a touch of guilt or self-blame, too, were factors in this conversation grew stronger.

"You have a wonderful wife who shares both your determination and your intimidating intelligence," James pointed out. "You have Sarah and me, so, that's free child care, a place to stay near specialists in London, and access to the Hammonds who can connect you to the best doctors, and they'd be right here to support you through it. You know how dedicated Rich is to helping TBI patients."

Sim sighed, a little sound of resignation. "So my kids get greater advantages in life just because when I was an idiotic young bachelor, I undercharged for my services so severely that the BBC gave you no choice but to work with me?"

Yes, definitely, this was some sort of internal struggle. "Oh, Simmy," James intoned, resuming the calming strokes up and down his friend's back, sliding one hand up Sim's neck to tangle in the shaggy curls. He wasn't sure if Sim liked that or if it was just something they did for James' benefit, until Sim made his preference clear by leaning into the touch. "You didn't fail to properly assess and respond to an unusual level of risk," James continued, relieved that Sim was responding more favourably now. "You allowed Daniel to do something that all children do. You're drowning in so much pain and guilt right now, and you don't deserve any of what you're heaping onto yourself." Silence dominated the shed for one or two very long minutes.

"Getting pretty good at this," Sim acknowledged finally. "I don't know if I'm supposed to agree, or get angry with you for seeing right through me."

"I had a pretty good teacher," James answered. "Anyway, the doctors are right, they're just acting from an abundance of caution because he's a child, and tomorrow he'll be home all mended and you'll feel a berk for having worried." Sim sighed softly, then nodded.

"Thank you for tolerating my being a complete jessie," Sim said, finally sounding more like the calm and collected man James was proud to call his chief engineer.

"Hmm," James started, an impish grin playing on his lips as Sim leant back a bit to make eye contact. "Pretty sure someone banned statements like that when I'm with them, now who was -- oh, it was you!" Sim rolled his eyes, but he chuckled just the same. "Nothing silly about how you're reacting," James pointed out, more serious now. "I would be beside myself, in your position. I'm a bit worried myself, even knowing from experience that this is all routine. I do care for your children, Simmy, very much."

Sim smiled at that. "Good, because I don't think they realise you and Sarah are not, genetically speaking, their aunt and uncle." Sim paused with a frown. "Uncle and aunt? That sounds wrong, but do you turn it around anyway so it's in the same order as you and Sarah?"

"You called me for support, Simmy, not a grammar lesson," James answered. The younger man hummed in agreement, then leant against James again, simply soaking up the embrace for a while longer. They were interrupted when a knock at the shed door startled James.

"Ah, curry's here!" Sim announced brightly, reaching for his wallet as he unfolded himself from the sofa.

"You get curry delivery to your shed?" James asked.

"Oh, we'll deliver it just about anywhere Mr Oakley wants," the delivery person said as she handed the parcel over to James, freeing her hands up for Sim's cash. In other words, James thought to himself, Sim was probably catastrophically over-tipping.

"Do you want to take this inside?" James asked once the transaction was complete. "We can put a film on if you'd like." Sim, who'd seemed ready to settle down in the shed, brightened at that idea and led the way indoors. In short order, they were watching television, their food sitting on a pair of trays. James carefully balanced his tray on his lap, eating one-handed with his other arm wrapped around Sim, who was still scrunched unbelievably close. "Is it possible that you were getting a bit out of balance, even before Daniel's accident?" James asked as they watched the show.

"It's possible," Sim answered, a sheepish little smile taking over his features. Before the accident, I had been planning to call after we got the children into bed tonight, and see if you had any time next week."

James hummed thoughtfully. "I have time next weekend. Let's plan for that." Sim cocked his head thoughtfully, then nodded. James smiled. Much as he wanted to be there for his friend during the hard days, he much preferred the times they spent together just appreciating one another's company.

Another programme and a phone call with their wives later, Sim looked over at James with a yawn. "Bedtime?" he asked. James nodded, gesturing at the staircase to indicate that Sim should head upstairs while he took an extra moment to clean up after dinner.

Once he was ready for bed, James stepped into the doorway of Sim's room to say goodnight. "You're in here tonight," Sim said, pointing at the cushy king-size bed. James gave him a confused look, having expected to borrow Daniel's unoccupied room. "The kids asked Santa for bigger bedrooms for Christmas, so --" Sim stopped for a moment while James laughed. "So we did the next best thing and bought them both loft beds. Weight limit's a bit on the low side. They sprung it on me too near Christmas to build them myself."

James blinked at this unexpected turn of events, but shrugged and climbed in on the side without Sim's engineering journal and the odd, nouveau-Mesoamerican statue on its nightstand. Sim made his way to the other side and perched his glasses on the statue, making it look sort of like a near-sighted moai, which made James smile. "I like that accessory," he commented, and Sim beamed.

"The kids got that for me," he said as he busied himself filling water cups for their nightstands. "Shopped by themselves and everything. All we had to do was give them money and supervise from a suitable distance, and…" Sim closed the bedroom door, then stopped, leaning his forehead against the cool wood. "God, all the stress just hit me again." He briefly rubbed at his hair as if that would brush his worries away. "It's been getting worse since we started to quiet down for the night, really."

James winced in sympathy as he untangled himself from the bedding. Operating on some level of instinct, he came to stand behind Sim, arms wrapped around him in the way that he and Clarkson used to do for Hammond, when he suffered from anxiety attacks in the aftermath of his accident. He wasn't sure it was a good idea until Sim melted against him, reaching up to rest both hands on the arms encircling him.

"Nights were the hardest for me, too," James commented softly, his chin on his friend's shoulder. "Would it help to call again?"

Sim shook his head. "Daniel finally fell asleep while I was on the phone with them earlier, and Sarah was going to take Anne to get a bit of food. I'd feel awful if I interrupted their bonding time, or if I woke him.

James nodded. Given that it was creeping up on midnight, he wasn't surprised. "If you're going to come apart from stress, then," he said after a minute, "let's at least lie down and be comfortable for it, all right?" Sim nodded and went to climb into his side of the bed, plunging them into darkness as soon as they were both settled under the covers. James breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't realised how tired his eyes were until that moment when they no longer were burdened with the task of making sense of his world.

Which was probably why he didn't hear or feel any movement until his friend flopped against him, head resting on his shoulder. James blinked in surprise, but by the time he fully processed the way Sim was snuggled against his side, he'd already wrapped an arm around his friend, apparently on autopilot. "All right?" he asked. He hadn't expected this, although he supposed he should have, since it wasn't that dissimilar to how James had handled Hammond's crash, in the quiet dark of night, when there was nothing left with which to distract himself from his pain and worry for his dear friend.

Sim hummed. "Will be," he answered, then suddenly jerked back a bit, forcing James to tighten his grip to hang onto his friend. "Sorry, I didn't mean to…" Sim started. Even in the dark, James could hear the horrified expression on his face.

"Yes, you did," James answered. "Maybe not consciously, but you meant it, and you clearly need it, so come back here." Sim twitched once more, as if trying to pull away from his own need for contact, then gave in and came back alongside James. His muscles were stiffer this time, as if he felt more vulnerable and unconfident. James was reminded of a time, what seemed like a lifetime ago now, when he'd been… distraught, he supposed was the word, enough that he'd practically sat in Sim's lap. And he'd only been struggling with his own feelings of unworthiness. How much more Sim was struggling with, tonight.

A couple minutes of silence passed. "It was terrifying," Sim said. "They secured him so he could barely move, in case of spinal injury, but he was in such pain that his feet were writhing. And I could do nothing but stand by him."

James found himself momentarily awash in the memory of the frustration and helplessness he'd experienced after Richard's accident. "Oh, my sweet friend," he muttered. "You've been dropped into such a nightmare today."

Sim nodded. "Having kids introduces you to a level of terror you never knew you were capable of, but I've never been so overwhelmed by it. Felt like I was drowning. I could barely breathe, let alone worry about him properly."

James chuckled at that. "Probably for the best, that," he said. "I tried worrying, to no avail. It didn't help Rich and it made me crazy."

"Short trip," Sim quipped before James could pre-empt the retort.

"Yes, all right," he grumbled in good nature, squeezing his friend a little closer.

"You really went through a lot when he crashed, didn't you?" Sim asked after a quiet moment.

"I did," James answered. "We all did. Which is how I know this is one of the hardest days of your life." Sim hummed in thought. "And it's how I know it'll get better."

"Would it be all right to… " Sim began, then stopped. "I'll move in a minute."

James hummed his agreement, then blinked in surprise as his brain suddenly processed Sim's aborted question. "Yes, it's all right to stay right here tonight," he answered, then felt Sim tense up. "Why are you so insecure tonight, Simmy? You're reminding me of me, back at the beginning."

"God, I am, aren't I?" Sim asked. He rubbed his face with one hand. "I don't know, James. But thank you for tolerating me."

"Do you recall what you said to me when I felt like this? I heard you, Simmy. I understood what I was getting into, and I chose to reach out to you. Of course I'm here for you."

"You couldn't have expected me to do this," Sim countered.

"Perhaps not," James answered truthfully. He pulled Sim's arm from its place tucked between them, and laid it on his chest, rubbing it in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. "But it turns out I've been needing it as well," he admitted. "Just didn't know it until now." His confession was met with silence, and James flinched. This was probably a step too far in their quest to reject all the social norms they could get their hands on, and -- oh, hang on.

Sim's body became a strange blend of relaxed and tense as he suddenly squeezed James, forming his body around the pointy elbows and awkward bits. "I should tell you off for not paying enough attention to yourself to know what you need," Sim began, "but the truth is, I did know, for a while now, and didn't say so."

James blinked, surprised. That definitely wasn't what he'd expected. "Why?" Sim shrugged a bit.

"Fear of rejection?" Sim offered. "I know, it's a violation of our agreement to take one another as-is, but…" Sim sighed, making James shiver at the burst of warmth that hit his tee shirt. "I worried how you'd take it, I suppose. Worried that someday I might finally ask for the wrong thing, and break the whole spell."

James hummed thoughtfully. "Sharing closeness is part of our friendship's framework, the structure by which we interpret one another's requests. I don't know why you were worried, but don't waste another moment on that thought, Simmy."

Sim made a thoughtful sound and finally let himself sag into James' arms. "Thank you," he said softly, after a few moments. "I didn't realise how… er… is it terribly unmanly to admit that I like this?"

James gave a barking laugh, covering his mouth to stop it from escalating. "That's a bit obvious, mate." Sim made a disconcerted noise, at that news. "You do realise you're not the only one, right?" James asked. The silence that met James' question was all the answer he needed. No, Sim had definitely not figured that out.

"Really?" Sim asked softly. James hummed in reply, a friendly, agreeable sound. He'd never been the one to take the lead with Sim, who always seemed so much more confident than James was about these matters. Tonight, it seemed both easier and harder than James had imagined… easy to follow Sim's example, do what would work for James, and yet, it felt like a huge, terrifying risk to step into this role. Like right now, he thought as he considered the day… the past few weeks… months, maybe… and he knew what he needed to do, where Sim needed James to lead them. But it was terrifying. Probably not unlike how Sim had felt so many times as he guided James into this deep friendship.

"All right?" Sim asked. "Your heart's started pounding."

James rolled his eyes. Keeping his nervousness to himself wasn't possible with his friend's head resting against his chest. Better to just get it over with, then. "Yeah," he said, just a bit sharply. "Love you, Simmy."

"I love you too, James." Sim answered, his tone soft and easy, as if he'd been expecting this. "Is that what your heart's racing, over?" He chuckled softly when James nodded. "I wondered if you'd ever say that." James made a confused sound. "I've been ending phone calls like that for a while, waiting for you to notice, and then waiting for you to be ready to say it back."

"I was," James said. "I am."

Sim made a happy sound. "Clearly," he muttered in response. Something about hearing those words from James had flipped some sort of switch, James thought, and shifted him into a more relaxed mode. James could tell by Sim's tone that sleep was fast approaching. He wasn't quite ready to sleep himself, but he lay quietly and allowed himself this opportunity to appreciate Sim finally finding some level of peace. Today had been an absolute nightmare for his friend, but tomorrow would be better.

\---

The sun was fully up when James woke the next morning, Sim still wrapped around him like an overly needy octopus. He stirred at James' light movements, one eye opening to the new day

"Her majesty didn't wake us?" Sim asked, confused.

"She woke me a little bit ago, around seven," James answered. "I told her to have cereal and watch cartoons, and then fell back asleep."

Sim hummed at that, a sound that gave way to a growl of irritation as he began to disengage and wrestle his way out of the blankets. "James, it's nearly eleven. We've left her unsupervised for half the day already."

"How can you know that?" James asked as he untangled the sheet from his ankles.

"The lamp," Sim answered. "Its shadow is all wrong for morning." James rolled his eyes. Of course Sim could tell time based on the way the sunlight cast a shadow on the wall, sundial-style. He could do everything else in the world involving the practical use of angles; why not this as well?

Sim made a quiet sound of excitement when he came down the stairs, and when James made it to the last step, he saw why. There on the sofa, his son lay asleep in front of cartoon shows, a blackened eye and an awkwardly-positioned pillow at his shoulder the only outward signs of yesterday's ordeal. Sim sat next to him, gently fussing with the afghan draped over his small form. Peering into the doorway, James found their women sitting at the dining table, mugs of hot tea nestled in their hands to ward off the winter chill that tended to close in on the kitchen.

"You didn't wake us when you got here," James admonished them gently, restarting the kettle for more tea.

"You looked comfortable," Sarah answered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

James glanced to the doorway when he saw motion, expecting to ask Sim which tea he wanted this morning, but he came to a stop when he saw the suspicious look on his friend's face. "You took pictures, didn't you," Sim said more than asked, his eyes narrowing on his wife, who only snickered in response.

"Oh, God…" James grumbled, unsure if he was more put-off by the fact that photos existed, or how well Sim knew his wife, that he'd guessed accurately, with such ease.

"It was adorable!" the women countered, producing photos of the two friends, sleeping the sleep of the dead, their heads resting on one another.

James groaned in dismay. His sentimental, sensitive part actually liked that somebody had thought to take a photo, but… "Clarkson had better not ever, ever see those," he said tersely. "Ever." He breathed a sigh of relief when everyone quickly agreed to that demand, and then again when the kettle whistled a moment later. He had a long to-do list for the day, made even longer by the family emergency, but first, tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not my strongest ending ever, I know, but this whole story is already twice the length I had envisioned, and if I didn't stop I wasn't ever going to stop.


End file.
